


One More Time

by Michelle Christian (movies_michelle)



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:53:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/movies_michelle/pseuds/Michelle%20Christian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Klia. Prompt: post-The Gone Fishin' Job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time

"We're going fishing today."

Hardison turned away from his desk to see Eliot standing with two fishing poles, a basket, and a total Colonel Blake hat, complete with hooks and flies. Hardison would have made fun of him for it, but Eliot was wearing a determined look on his face, like he normally did when he was about to start leaving bodies around, and Hardison thought he wanted to be killed by someone who didn't look quite so ridiculous.

"Pardon?" he asked instead.

"We're going fishing," Eliot repeated, sounding grim.

"Um, I don't know if you recall the last time you mentioned that," Hardison said slowly, "but it ended up with terrorists and us doing our best to not get killed."

"I promise no terrorists this time," Eliot offered.

"Because you were expecting it last time?" Hardison asked incredulously. Seriously, what was up? "Naw, that was God's way of telling me everything I already knew about nature: it doesn't bother me, I won't bother it." He turned back to the computer.

"Come on, man, just a quiet afternoon with the fish and the water and the fresh air."

Hardison turned back around, looking at him skeptically. That almost sounded—wheedling. Eliot did not wheedle. He pounded and glared and snarled, but he did not wheedle. "Hey, man, you want me to break out the Wii Fishing again, I'd be up for it."

"Yeah," Eliot snarled. Hardison was actually a little relieved. "Because that's exactly the same. Exceot for the actual sun, fresh air, or fish."

"Dude, no one's stopping you," Hardison held up his hands. He was increasingly confused by this conversation. "Go. Have all the fresh air and mosquitoes you can stand. I will stay here with my beautiful skin unblemished by bug bites _or_ bombs, and we'll both be happy."

Eliot mumbled something.

"What?" Hardison asked.

"I said it's not the same alone," Eliot repeated, over-enunciating this time, and speaking loudly.

Hardison blinked. His Nana might not have raised the most law-abiding child, but she hadn't raised a fool, either. Because Hardison knew Eliot, and while Eliot seemed to like running with a crew more than he realized, Hardison also knew Eliot liked his own space, and could spend plenty of happy hours alone and in his own head, thinking up new and exciting ways to kill people with harmless kitchen utensils.

Which meant that Eliot's insistence on Hardison, who was not Nature Boy by any stretch of the imagination, going fishing with him didn't just have to do with fishing-qua-fishing, but with Hardison, himself.

Hardison smiled to himself, and resisted the urge to tease Eliot for liking him or try to make him hug again. Because Eliot might like him and want to spend time with him, even enough to admit it out-loud (mostly), but that still didn't mean Eliot couldn't or wouldn't kill Hardison with his little toe.

"Fine," Hardison got up and walked towards the door, enjoying the grudging smile on Eliot's face. "But you better have sandwiches and sodas in that thing," he said, pointing at the basket.

Eliot rolled his eyes, even as he smiled. "It's not a picnic basket, Hardison, it's a creel. You put your fish in that."

"And really, man," Hardison said as they walked out, kind of looking forward to the day, even with the certainty of bug bites (thought less probability of terrorists, he would admit), "I'm supposed to take you seriously while you're wearing that hat? What, did Radar give that to you?"

-30-


End file.
